


A Very Werewolf Christmas

by roebling



Series: Calling the Moon [4]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Homophobia, M/M, One Shot, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Brendon & Spencer's first Christmas together, things don't go quite according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Werewolf Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted January 3, 2011)

The thing is, it was Spencer's idea to start with. Spencer's fucking idea, which should have been a clue to Brendon that hey, maybe he ought to think this through a little more carefully!

Not that Spencer didn't have awesome ideas. A lot of his ideas were awesome. Way more than half even. The dog walking thing, for example? Seemed like an absolutely terrible fucking idea at the outset, in Brendon's opinion, but that had really worked out for the best. Spencer was probably the most popular and reputable dog walker in the city. He had a waiting list! And yeah, that was not exactly something Brendon could brag about at cocktail parties (not that he goes to cocktail parties), but it was still pretty cool.

This idea, though, was in that minority of Spencer ideas that was just out and out awful, blatantly. Part of it, maybe, was that Spencer was so used to having to do ~whatever it took to get things done. Brendon still didn't really have that great of an idea of what Spencer's life was like after he was bitten, but he knows it was pretty shitty. Life and death shitty. He knows Spencer had to do awful, terrible things. Had to endure hunger and pain.

Because of that, sometimes he took drastic measures where drastic measures were really not called for.

Like, yeah, Brendon's neighbor was kind of a bitch, but it probably wasn't a great idea for Spencer to 'accidentally' mow down an entire patch of her prize winning tomatoes.

The restitution they'd had to pay was kind of outrageous -- those damn tomato plants wouldn't have been worth a hundred dollars each even if they'd been made of gold, but Brendon would have done whatever he needed to make Mrs. Witherstone happy and avoid having her call the cops.

Brendon had started to recognize when Spencer got that determined glint in his eye that meant that he was up to something that might not work out all that well. Usually, he took that as a sign to head things off at the pass -- like, yeah, it sucked that the mail man kept running over the flowers Spencer had planted at the front of the yard, but no, it definitely was not a good idea to put a bunch of tacks in the road. Messing around with the mail was a federal crime or something, and they could always get more petunias.

This time though, Brendon just wanted so desperately for everything to work out, that Spencer's awful idea seemed almost reasonable.

"It just makes sense," Spencer said, staring down at the crossword puzzle. His hair was getting longer, and Brendon stifled an urge to push it out of his face. Spencer never paid attention to things like that, would let two weeks worth of stubbly beard accumulate before Brendon annoyed him into shaving, would let his hair grow ragged down to his shoulders if Brendon didn't drag him to the barber. "You want to spend Christmas with your family, and you want to spend Christmas with me. You can't take me there as your boyfriend, right?"

"No," Brendon said miserably, stirring a bowl full of soggy corn flakes. "I mean ... I really want to, Spence. You know that. One day I'm gonna, but right now I just ..."

"It's okay," Spencer said. "You can't change them right away."

Brendon frowned. "I know, but it sucks so badly. I don't want to lose them again, but I don't want to have to pretend to be something I'm not."

Spencer's mouth tighted. "I know, B. I get it," he said. His voice was tense, subtly tense, and Brendon felt like an idiot. Spencer knew better than anyone what it was like to lose your family.

"It's lucky for you that I come in a convenient travel variety," Spencer said, penciling in an answer. "Just say you can't find anyone to watch the dog. Your mom knows about the dog."

The dog. There it was. Brendon would never live that down.

"I don't know if that's really such a good idea," he said slowly. "You're going to be fucking miserable if you have to spend the whole trip as a wolf."

Spencer shrugged. "It's nothing I'm not used to."

"We won't really get to spend time together," Brendon protested feebly.

"Yes we will," Spencer said. "I'm still me, even when I'm a wolf." He sounded a little peeved. "I'm still me, Brendon."

"I know," Brendon said. "But ..."

"Do you have a better idea?" Spencer asked, one eyebrow arched.

"No," Brendon conceded miserably.

Spencer smiled, triumphant. "Then stop complaining. It'll be fine."

That, Brendon thought darkly, was too optimistic an appraisal even at the best of times, when his family was involved at least.

Three days before Christmas, Brendon stood in the middle of a pile of dirty clothing trying to find anything clean enough to pack. Spencer sat on the bed and wrapped the last few presents for Brendon's nieces and nephews. He had some crazy method that involved measuring each gift and calculating volume and it seemed kind of pointless, but there were definitely far fewer bits of odd-shaped scrap paper flying around, and the wrapped presents were picture-perfect.

"Are you packed?" Brendon asked, frustrated with his own effort.

Spencer nodded at the wall, where a backpack sat. There couldn't have been more than one or two changes of clothing in there. "I don't exactly need much if I'm going to be Fluffy the whole time."

Brendon cringed. "Dude, you don't have to be Fluffy. I told you we could pick a new name. Something fierce and manly, like, uh ... Trogdor!"

"Trogdor is a internet cartoon, dude," Spencer said. "Not exactly the kind of thing that makes me quake in my boots. But thanks, I think Fluffy's fine. You already told your mom that's what your dog was called, anyway."

Brendon frowned. "No I didn't," he said. "I don't think I did. How do you know?"

Spencer rolled his eyes. "I heard you," he said, barely concealing his smugness. "She called specifically to ask you, because you hadn't named me when you first told her. I can hear when I'm a wolf, you know. Much better than when I'm human, actually."

"I know," Brendon said, frustrated. He totally got that Spencer wasn't like, actually a wolf, even when he kind of was, but it was a little frustrating that Spencer sometimes expected him to understand all this stuff without ever actually wanting to talk to Brendon about it. "Fine. Fluffy. I'll get you a dog tag next time I go to the store."

They didn't really talk much the rest of the day, actually. Spencer was stressed out in a major way, but he didn't say anything about it. The fact that he spent three hours cleaning the grout in the bathroom with a toothbrush was a pretty obvious tip-off that something was up; Spencer's cleaning OCD only manifest itself when he was upset. Brendon tried to stay out of his way, puttering around the kitchen and the living room, watching old Christmas movies on TV, checking and re-checking that he'd packed everything he'd need to survive four days at his parents. (There was nothing that could ensure his survival, honestly, but a fully charged iPod would be a balm, at least.)

It was a long drive to his parents' house, and Brendon wanted to get an early start the next morning. He set his alarm for six. Spencer had finished up the grout, but when Brendon went in to brush his teeth he was cleaning the mirror and all the fixtures.

"You don't have to do that," Brendon said, frowning. "You know you don't."

"I know," Spencer said. "I just ... It needs to be done. Someone has to do it."

"Not now," Brendon said, stepping next to Spencer and grabbing his toothbrush. "We're going away. Nobody's going to be here to see the water spots on the mirror. Dude, none of our regular house guests would give a shit anyway. You've seen Zack's place, right? I think it was nearly condemned once. Like, the building inspector was there and everything, and Zack had to bribe him or something so that he wouldn't ... "

Spencer caught his gaze in the spotless mirror and held it for a long moment. Brendon fell silent.

"I care," Spencer said, at last. He threw down the towel he'd been using the clean the mirror and stomped off down the hall.

Brendon sighed and stared at his own reflection. He did want it all -- he wanted to spend Christmas with his family and he wanted to spend it with Spencer. He was sick of compromising. He'd thought, maybe, this was a way he could finally have both, but they weren't even at his parents' house and already things were sour.

Spencer was up first the next morning. It wasn't that cold out, but by the time Brendon came downstairs, still dripping from the shower, he had warmed up the car and made a thermos of steaming hot coffee, milky and sweet the way Brendon liked it. He'd loaded the shopping bags of presents into the trunk, and was making toast.

"You didn't have to do all this," Brendon said, yawning.

Spencer glanced over his shoulder. He stood just where the clear morning light shone through the window and his eyes were as blue as the sky outside. He smiled. Brendon almost trembled at the sudden wash of affection he felt. He'd never, ever felt this way about anyone else.

"I wanted to let you sleep," Spencer said. "It's going to be a long drive."

Any lingering ire from the previous day disappeared. "Thanks," Brendon said, taking the plate of toast that Spencer handed him.

They ate breakfast in silence. Afterward, Brendon went upstairs to grab his wallet and coat while Spencer did the last few dishes. He opened the top drawer of his dresser and pulled out a manila envelope, folded in half, that he'd hidden under his socks. He frowned at it for a moment. He and Spencer had agreed not to get each other anything for Christmas; money wasn't as tight as it had been, but it was still a close thing every month to make sure that they had enough for the rent and the bills and food and stuff. Spencer'd said that he'd rather Brendon spend the extra money they did have on gifts for his family. Spencer was always being ridiculously selfless like that because he was a good person, but sometimes, he was so silly about it that it Brendon got mad, wanted to shake him and tell him that it was okay to ask for things, to want things, to get his way once in a while.

Brendon hadn't made that argument this time.

He was startled when he heard the honk of a car horn. Spencer was waiting for him downstairs. He stared at the envelope in his hands. They'd said no presents, but Brendon had been working on this since way before Christmas. Still, there was a kind of tight, nervous feeling in his stomach when he thought about giving it to Spencer ...

The horn honked again. Brendon stuffed the envelope in his bag. He'd worry about that later. With Christmas at his parents' house on the horizon, he had plenty to worry about.

The ride was long, but actually kind of fun. The radio stations were all playing Christmas songs. Brendon sang along loudly. Spencer grumped after they heard 'Jingle Bell Rock' for the third time, but by the time they were on the interstate, he was singing along too.

They stopped at a rest area about forty five minutes from Brendon's parents' house. Brendon shut off the car and glanced over at Spencer.

"You're sure you're cool with this?" he asked. "Last chance. I could always tell Mom I got food poisoning and can't make it ..."

Spencer narrowed his eyes. "I'm definitely sure," he said. "One hundred percent sure." He took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll be right back."

He got out of the car and disappeared around the corner of the building. Brendon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. It was mid-morning, and the parking lot was bustling with holiday travelers: husbands and wives holding too-excited children by the hands, couples walking arm in arm, harried last minute shoppers with their back seats full of bags and boxes. Every year since he'd left home, Brendon had been kind of down around Christmas time. Sure, Shane and Regan and Zack did their best to invite him to dinner, to parties, made him feel as welcome as though he were family, but it wasn't really the same thing. Nobody made his mom's famous jello salad, and they didn't sing the familiar old carols that his father sung. He was so, so glad that he was going back this year, he just wished ...

He wished for a lot of things, and his wishes rarely came true. He needed to remember that, and be grateful for what he had.

There was a knock against the side of the car. Brendon leaned over and opened the door. Spencer sat there calmly, tail wagging, his clothing folded in his mouth. He jumped in the car.

"You ready?" Brendon asked.

Spencer whined and kind of nodded his head.

Brendon closed his eyes for a minute. Spencer had settled down on the front seat. He would never, ever admit it, but Brendon knew he really liked to stick his head out the window when they drove. There was a reason he always had the windows rolled down when he drove. Brendon cranked up the heat and rolled down the window on the passenger side a few inches. Spencer stuck his nose outside, panting gladly.

"You goof," Brendon muttered, but he was smiling.

Spencer snorted, but he smiled too, in his wolfish way.

They arrived at the Urie family seat far too soon. The driveway was full of his siblings' cars -- shiny, new SUVs and minivans, fit for carting around their progeny. Brendon parked his poor, aged Corolla in the street. He glanced over at Spencer, who was looking at him in that uncanny way he had. Brendon sighed and got out the collar from his backpack.

"Sorry," he said as he fastened it around Spencer's neck. "Sorry, Spence." He softly scratched behind Spencer's ear. Spencer's eyes closed a little and he nosed wetly at Brendon's wrist.

It was all the consolation he could offer, right now.

Nieces and nephews were spilling out onto the yard, bundled up in scarves and hats to an extent that was almost absurd, considering the temperature was hovering a few degrees above freezing.

"Uncle Brendon," one of the kids shouted, and it took Brendon a shameful minute to recognize Kara's oldest, Elsie. She'd been two when he'd last seen her, still barely toddling around, not a little girl with long blond hair and a gap tooth.

He swung her up into his arms. "Hey Els," he said. He pretended to stagger under her weight. "You've turned into a giant since the last time I saw you. Let me guess. Spinach is totally you're favorite food, isn't it?"

Elsie giggled. Her nose was red. "No, 'tatoes are my favorite," she said, lisping a little. She wrapped her arms tight around Brendon's neck. "I'm glad you came back," she said. "Mommy said you had to go on a long trip. I'm glad you came back for Christmas."

Brendon swallowed. His throat was tight and his eyes stung. "Me too," he said, settling her carefully back down on the ground.

All the while Spencer sat patiently by the car, tail wagging a little, ears perked. Two of Brendon's nephews were petting him gingerly.

"It's okay," Brendon said. "He's a gentle giant. You can pet him."

They took that as an invitation to throw their arms around him and tug on his tail, his ears, his paws. Brendon whispered a silent apology and started to unload the car.

That first day was overwhelming. Brendon was tired from the ride and nervous, still so nervous that it settled in his stomach like a rock. He had no appetite for the big meal his mother had prepared. He excused himself from dinner early and went upstairs. His parents had turned his old bedroom into a guest bedroom (and how long had they waited to do that? he wondered). It was strange being in that room, remembering where he'd sneakily hung a Green Day poster behind the church youth group calendar, remembering the long hours he'd spent laying on the floor, listening to CDs he'd borrowed off of Brent on his Sony Walkman. Now, the walls were painted a pale mint green and the bed was done up with a floral coverlet and a pink afghan his mother had made.

It was really weird.

Spencer, patient, wonderful Spencer, had gotten up from where he'd been lying in front of the couch and followed Brendon silently upstairs. Now, he climbed on the bed with Brendon and rested his heavy head on Brendon's stomach. Brendon rubbed the soft fur on his throat.

"This is so weird," he mumbled. "Spence, this is so fucking weird."

Spencer looked concerned, but he said nothing. He couldn't really say anything, exactly, being a wolf.

"I thought ... I don't know what I thought," Brendon said, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. "I thought it would be different."

Really, it wasn't very different at all. Brendon's mom had started crying when he walked in the house, and wrapped him tight in a hug that he wasn't sure she'd ever let him out of. It was okay, though, because he wasn't sure he wanted her to. She'd even petted Spencer gently when Brendon introduced him, although he'd seen the wariness in her eyes and the way she glanced around at the pristine white carpet and pale couches.

As he'd hugged his family, Brendon had filled up with some kind of warm, wonderful feeling, like that feeling they talk about in commercials at Christmas time. Even though it totally sucked that Spencer was stuck being the unwanted attentions of a bunch of little kids, it was worth it. Brendon would make it up to him somehow, make it up a thousand times over.

That warm Christmas cookie feeling hadn't lasted long though. As Brendon helped his mother get dinner on the table she'd chided him about his hair, saying she'd be glad to cut it if he wanted. She chided him about his clothing, which were definitely a little more colorful than the stuff she used to dress him in, but were neat and clean and ironed.

(The ironing was Spencer's idea. Brendon honestly couldn't care less, but Spencer had huffed and taken the shirt right off Brendon's back. He was pretty smart, Brendon had to admit. He was pretty awesome.)

He'd born her attentions with as much good grace as he could muster. He tried to smile and laugh things off because he knew she just wanted him to be happy. He knew that she thought her picture of happiness was the one that he ought to want. He knew that. He'd always known that.

Dinner was alright, but the family had grown in size since Brendon had last sat through a Urie family meal, and most of the new additions weren't exactly the type to carry a lively conversation. Instead, the kids fussed and spilled things and yelled at each other from across the table. Brendon's head started to ache. When Elsie's little brother Marcus hit his cousin Dale and Dale burst out crying, it was all Brendon could do not to join him.

He'd excused himself not long after. He'd felt bad, felt guilty down in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't take another hour of screaming kids and conversation about the new deacon at the local temple and the bake sale that his sister-in-law had organized for her woman's group.

"I'm kind of an asshole," he said, half to himself.

Spencer huffed in annoyance. It was kind of funny, the way that Brendon could read his facial features even when they were of the canine variety.

"I know," he said. "I know, Spence. I'm gonna try. I am. I just ... I don't know why they asked me to come back if nothing's gonna be different."

Spencer lifted his head a little, looked reproachful. He'd asked Brendon -- asked him so many times -- if he was sure he wanted to spend the holidays with his family, and Brendon had said yes without hesitation.

"I need to give them a chance," Brendon said, closing his eyes. "I know. You're right."

Mollified, Spencer settled back down. It was early still; the sun outside had just started to sink into the tangerine cushion of sunset, but Brendon was tired. He could feel the slow, rhythmic movement of Spencer's breathing. He was almost too warm where Spencer's body covered his. He could hear the sounds of the family downstairs, but they were muted and distant.

From a distance, his family was tolerable. From a distance, Brendon loved them. It was just up close that was the problem.

"I'm exhausted," he mumbled, half to himself.

One of Spencer's ears twitched.

"Tomorrow'll be better," he said, slowly, fading, and then finally asleep.

The next day was Christmas Eve, and it was better, at first. Brendon woke up early, and went with his dad and two of his older brothers to pick out a tree. It was a good time, laughing and joking in the early morning cold as they compared the merits of various blue spruces and Douglas firs. Brendon's dad usually had the final say in which tree they got, but this year he let Brendon pick. It was a pretty big honor, because Brendon's mom was very particular about her Christmas tree, but the one he selected was tall and full and perfectly Christmas tree shaped.

Everyone said it was perfect.

Back at the house, Brendon found Spencer out in the back yard, glumly fetching the tennis ball that Brendon's little nephews threw for him, over and over. He grabbed Spencer's leash from where it hung, and whistled.

"I think Fluffy needs to go for a walk," he said.

Spencer darted over and waited for Brendon to clip on the leash.

The boys wanted to come along for the walk, and Brendon really couldn't think of a good reason to say that they couldn't. 'My dog is actually my werewolf boyfriend and we need some alone time' was not an explanation he felt he could offer. Luckily, he was saved when his mom opened the door to the kitchen and yelled for the kids to come in and eat breakfast.

As soon as they were out of sight of the house, Brendon let Spencer off the leash. It was weird, walking him that way. Brendon didn't like it at all, honestly. Like, he never, ever felt like he owned Spencer, or whatever. He never felt like he had any right to make Spencer do anything. It was weird to have to feign otherwise.

Spencer walked at his side placidly. Spencer acted like being a wolf was no big deal, but Brendon didn't really know what it was like. It had to be different, somehow, didn't it? He wished there were no need for this stupid ploy. He wanted to take Spencer -- human Spencer -- to meet his parents. He wanted his mother to come and visit and be impressed by how well Spencer cooked, by how clean and neat the house was. It sucked, having to pretend to be something he wasn't, still, even when everyone knew the truth.

He walked down to the park at the end of the street. An older man was walking his Boston terrier, and he started when he saw Spencer. Brendon forgot, sometimes, that he was kind of enormous and scary looking.

"Don't worry," he called out. "He's a gentle giant."

The man seemed to relax, but he and his yapping little terrier kept their distance.

Back at the house, Brendon fed Spencer. He'd made up some elaborate lie that nobody believed about Fluffy's delicate constitution and sensitive stomach to cover for the fact that he ate lightly browned ground beef and brown rice. Brendon's mother told him that he was being ridiculous, that it was just a dog. The sudden, fierce surge of anger that shot up his spine surprised him, and he slammed the cleaver he was using into the chopping board with unreasonable force.

"He's my dog, Mom," Brendon said. "I'm not a little kid. I can take care of him."

His mother just shook her head and turned back to the pie she was making.

Later, Brendon got out his guitar and played along while the family sang carols. His anger was defused. The little kids didn't know the words and had to be prompted. They covered the standards and Brendon dug deeper into his repertoire -- he played 'Father Christmas' and 'Wonderful Christmas Time' and 'Here Comes Santa Claus'. His mom made hot chocolate with marshmallows floating in it. And, when he glanced over, he saw Spencer curled up near the doorway, tail tucked over his nose, watching.

He should have know that the chances of having an entire day with almost no mishaps was pushing his luck. He should have been keeping a closer eye on things, but after dinner he stayed at the table with his parents and his siblings, drinking sweet coffee and eating a second slice of his mom's banana pudding pie. He wasn't really paying attention to the conversation. His brother Brian was talking about his job, which had something to do with approving construction permits or inspecting buildings -- something prosperous and utterly boring.

Brendon was half in a daze, slowly stirring his coffee, when a sharp sudden noise from the other room startled him.

It was Spencer.

He leaped to his feet. It was stupid -- he knew that Spencer would never, ever, ever do anything to hurt any of the kids, but he didn't know his own strength sometimes and if they'd startled him. Well, he was human, of course, but in that wolf body his reflexes were not. They were much, much faster.

In the living room Spencer laid on the ground in front of he couch. He whimpered when he saw Brendon. There was, Brendon was relieved to see, not a drop of blood spilled. Dale, Kara's little boy, was trying to feed Spencer some of his rice pudding. Little sticky grains were stuck to Spencer's muzzle and face. Marcus was sprawled across Spencer's back, chawing noisily at a piece of gum and blowing large, pink bubbles ...

Bubbles that had popped and gotten all over Spencer's fur. Shit.

"Oh no, no. Guys!" Brendon said. "Get off Fluffy. You're making him upset."

Dale looked up with wide eyes and said solemnly, "We're sharing."

Brendon took a deep breath. "You can't share with doggies like you share with people though, buddy. They don't like the same things."

He pulled them off Spencer, who looked miserable. His ears were droopy and his tail was limp.

Kara had come in from the other room. When she saw what the boys had done, she sighed. "Brendon, I'm sorry. I should have been in here watching them around the dog. He's just been so well behaved I almost feel like he's watching them."

That was more true than Kara would ever know. "It's not your fault," he said. He grabbed a napkin from the coffee table and tried to wipe the dried rice pudding from Spencer's face.

"You better take that dog outside this minute and give him a bath."

Brendon looked up. His mother stood in the doorway, her arms folded.

"He's not staying in my house if he's filthy," she said.

"I'm not washing him outside, Mom," Brendon said, frowning. "It's cold. He'll get sick."

His mother shook her head, exasperated but fond. "I think you need to channel that paternal instinct elsewhere, honey. He's a dog. He'll be fine."

There was no way in hell Brendon was washing Spencer outside. "Let me wash him in the upstairs bathroom. I'll ..."

"You'll make a complete mess," his mother said. She sighed. "Well, if you do, you're cleaning it up. I've already scrubbed and bleached all the bathrooms once this week."

"I'll totally clean it up," Brendon said. "I promise."

He grabbed a bunch of old towels from the closet and herded Spencer into the bathroom. This was the bathroom Brendon had used when he was a kid. It was shabby and dated, with wood paneled cabinets and tacky yellow tile. The moment the door was locked, he dropped the pile of towels and reached for Spencer.

"Shit, Spence, I'm so sorry," he murmured. The gum was ground deep into his fur. Brendon really, really didn't want to have to cut it out.

In an instant, Spencer had shifted to human. (Brendon could see that a thousand times and still be amazed; it really was like something out of a movie.) He had a sour, sour look on his face and dirty chewing gum stuck to his chest and in his hair.

"This was a nefarious plan, wasn't it?" he said. "I know you wanted me to cut my hair, but seriously."

Spencer could look awfully pissy when he wanted, but when Brendon caught his eye, his scowl softened.

"Hey," he said, stepping forward and fitting his hand in the small of Brendon's back. "I missed you."

"Me too," Brendon said. "I would totally kiss you right now if you weren't y'know. Covered in gum and rice."

Spencer rolled his eyes. "I appreciate the honesty," he said dryly. "Ugh. This better come off."

Brendon started the shower while Spencer tried to pick off the gum. It was so weird, being in that sad little bathroom (the bathroom, coincidentally, where Brendon had jerked off for the first time) with Spencer, listening to the clump-clump of feet going up and down the stairs, the high chatter of young voices, knowing that his family was just a locked door away.

"It's hot," Brendon said.

Spencer stuck a hand under the spray. The temperature must have been to his satisfaction, because he stepped into the tub and was then nothing more than a shadow behind the shower curtain. Brendon sat on the vanity. Spencer sighed. The mirror was starting to fog up. Brendon drew a little star in the condensation with his index finger.

The shower curtain rustled. Spencer's head, dripping, emerged.

"Aren't you coming in?" he asked.

"Oh," Brendon said. "Um. Yeah, totally."

He shed his clothes in a hurry and stepped under the spray. The hot water was shocking. He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders back. When his hair was soaked, he shook his head.

"I think Fluffy's starting to rub off on you," Spencer said, smirking.

Brendon ignored him. "Is the gum coming off?"

Spencer grimaced. "Not exactly," he said.

Brendon dampened a washcloth and squirted a little of the mild baby soap his mother insisted on using onto it. Spencer was worrying the bits of gum stuck to his chest and side. Brendon stilled him with a hand to the shoulder. Gently, he rubbed until the tacky gum started to come loose.

"Is it working?" Spencer asked. "Is it coming off?"

"Yes," Brendon said. "You just needed to be a little patient."

Spencer rolled his eyes. "I was patient. I don't think any dog has ever borne as much abuse as I did."

"Well," Brendon said dryly. "It's a good thing you're not a dog."

"True," Spencer said, and then was silent.

The bathroom was hung with veils of steam. It should have been strange -- and it was, if Brendon stopped to think about it. It should have been strange to be bathing his werewolf boyfriend in the shower at his parents' house. Brendon liked sex; he'd always liked sex, never insisted that it be especially coupled to emotional intimacy, but he'd never felt so very much at home in another person's space.

For the most part, the gum came off. There were little bits in Spencer's hair that he'd have to cut out, but they wouldn't have to resort to drastic measures.

"I don't think we'll need to shave you," Brendon said.

"Good," Spencer said, emphatically. He slid his arms around Brendon's waist. "You're doing great," he whispered.

Brendon closed his eyes. "I'm not," he said. "Everything's all stupid."

He sounded like a baby, whining, but he couldn't help but be disappointed, somehow. Disappointed that he would never manage what his parents expected of him, disappointed that they could never be happy for what he did have, for the person who he was.

"It's not that bad," Spencer said. He rubbed his thumb against Brendon's lower lip. "We're together, anyway. You're with me and I'm with you and that's where we belong."

Spencer said that with such confidence, such utter certainty, that Brendon nearly trembled. He thought Spencer was right -- he was almost sure that what they had was unique, was different, was perfect, but he could never banish a few last lingering doubts, doubts that Spencer did not have. He did not know if it was because of the werewolf thing -- maybe Spencer really did know, in some creepy werewolf mating sixth sense thing -- or just because Spencer was a better, more trusting person.

"Yeah," he said, and he leaned into Spencer's touch.

Spencer kissed him, softly, one hand still on his waist and one hand resting against his neck. He tasted clean and smelled like soap. The warm water danced down Brendon's back. He brought his other hand up to Spencer's shoulder. Everything was very slow, still, easy ...

"We really shouldn't do this here," Brendon said. "It's just ... weird."

"It'll make you feel better," Spencer said. "You'll be way more relaxed after I suck you off."

Brendon made a noise of frustration. "Saying things like that is totally unfair, Spence. How am I supposed to say no?"

"Don't," Spencer said, kissing down Brendon's neck, shifting them so that Brendon had his back to the cold tile wall.

"Someone's going to hear," Brendon whispered, pushing the dark fall of wet hair out of Spencer's face.

"Not if you be quiet," Spencer said, sensibly.

Brendon breathed in through his nose and tried to think of some other objection, but it was hard as Spencer got to his knees and took Brendon's dick in his hand and started to stroke him to full hardness. It was hard ... he snickered. It was pretty bad when you laughed at your own mental jokes, but he had been under a lot of stress ...

Spencer stopped his ministrations and looked up. His eyes were so bright in the dark haze, and his mouth was very red. He gave Brendon a look that meant something like, 'Is this not sufficiently absorbing for you?'

Brendon smiled and whispered, "Sorry, Spence," and placed a hand on his shoulder again. Then Spencer's lips brushed the tip of his dick, soft and hot. Brendon let out a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. All the muscles in his back went loose. Spencer sucked mostly on the head, the way Brendon liked, not taking him in too deep, not making things too intense at first. His hand stroked along the shaft.

"God, that's good," Brendon said. His voice echoed off the tile, louder than he'd intended. "Oh god."

Spencer gave him a look, brow arched.

"Sorry," Brendon said, all in a rush. "I'll be quiet. Don't stop."

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he didn't.

[Rest of porn that I don't feel like writing ...]

Brendon did feel better, after that. He clung to Spencer, dripping, and addressed Spencer's collarbone. "Don't change back," he said. "I'll tell them I found you in the linen closet."

Spencer snorted and reached for a towel. "Only two more days," he said.

"Two days is a long time," Brendon said, glum. "This was a bad idea."

"It wasn't," Spencer said. "God, Brendon ... it's your family. You want to make this work, right?"

"Yeah," Brendon said, muffled by the towel.

"Well then," Spencer said. "Make it work."

Brendon didn't think that was very constructive advice at all, but the conversation was terminated when Spencer shifted back to wolf.

At least Brendon's mother would have no complaints about the state of the bathroom. They'd left it spotless. And, by the time Brendon dressed and went back downstairs, the kids had been put to had and half the family was zoned out on the couch, watching some tedious Lifetime movie. Brendon had no desire to see if Susan really had amnesia, or if she was faking it, so he wandered into the kitchen, where his mom was finishing the dishes.

"I can do that," he said.

She smiled. "It's okay, honey," she said. "I'm almost done."

"Well, I can do the little bit that's left," he said, reaching for the serving bowl she was drying.

"You always were stubborn," his mother said, patting his cheek. She pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and sat down heavily.

"Dinner was really great," Brendon said. "Nobody makes green bean casserole like you do."

His mother laughed. "When you were a kid you wouldn't touch anything green with a ten foot pole."

"I guess I grew up," Brendon said.

"You did," she said. "I can't believe how much you look like your brothers." She was silent for a moment.

Brendon scrubbed hard at some crusted-on goo stuck to the bottom of a pot. He did look a lot like his brothers; there was a marked Urie family nose. Still, the physical resemblance was the only resemblance between he and his siblings. One day his mom would realize that.

"I'm glad you came," she said. "I'm sorry it took us so long to ask you."

"It's okay, Ma," he said, softly. "I think ... sometimes things need time, right?"

"Yes," she said. "I just ... you know I only want what's best for you, don't you, Brendon?"

"I know," he said. "I just ... I'm figuring that out for myself."

Her lips were pursed. He dried another plate. Spencer padded silently into the kitchen and went to Brendon's side. He sniffed, tentative, and then sat. Brendon filled a bowl of water and set it on the floor. Spencer lapped quietly. When he was finished, he laid down in front of the refrigerator, paws folded.

"Well," his mother said. "I have to say, you do take good care of that dog."

Brendon buckled with silent laughter.

The kids were up at quarter after five the following morning to see if Santa Claus had come. He had, but there was a longstanding rule that no presents could be opened in the Urie household until everyone was awake. Brendon was woken when forty pound of Elsie dropped heavily on his stomach. He let himself be dragged downstairs, where his smiling sister put a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Merry Christmas," she said, smiling.

"Merry Christmas," he said back.

It was kind of incredible, watching the kids open their presents. Back when he'd been a kid, their parents had insisted on only two presents each. He wasn't sure if it was part of becoming a grandparent, but that limit seemed to have been demolished. There were mountains of wrapped presents waiting around the tree. The wrapping paper flew. Elsie screamed with delight when she saw she got the doll that had been on the top of her list to Santa. As some point, Spencer padded downstairs. He sat at Brendon's side, and Brendon scratched behind his ear. His tail wagged and he was grinning.

Brendon didn't know how long it had been since Spencer had had a real Christmas. He had no idea if werewolves celebrated Christmas. He didn't even know if Spencer was Christian, or if his family was Jewish or Buddhist or if they were Scientologists. Spencer'd never said anything about it, and Brendon had never asked.

Now, that seemed kind of a grievous mistake.

"Merry Christmas, Spence," he whispered. "If that's your thing."

Spencer licked Brendon's hand. Brendon was pretty sure that meant things were alright. He hoped so.

After the piles of gifts were demolished and the family had devoured a huge breakfast, it was time for the Christmas morning service. Kara was staying behind to clean up, so there wasn't even any huge ordeal where Brendon had to explain that no, he wasn't going to go to church and no, he never did. Instead he stayed and helped Kara vacuum and do the dishes, and start the turkey for dinner. It was nice hanging out with her; she'd always been his favorite sister. She asked him about his job, his friends, his life.

"It sounds like you're happy," she said, smiling.

"I am," he said, vehement. "I really am."

"That's good," she said. "You know that's all they want for you. For any of us."

"I know," he said. "I know that." He bit his lip. Kara had always been the most understanding. "I ... I'm seeing someone. I wanted to bring him, but ..."

Kara frowned. "You're serious about him?"

"Yeah," Brendon said. "I mean, he's kind of ... we're ... you know. I love him."

Kara sighed. "Maybe I can talk to Mom ... She'd want to meet him, I think."

"You don't have to do that, Kar," Brendon said. "I get it. I mean, I get that it's easier for them just to pretend that I'm not gay."

"But it's not fair," Kara said.

Brendon couldn't help but laugh. "I know," he said.

By the time everyone got back from church, dinner was cooking and the table was set. Brendon was shooed away from the kitchen while his sisters' finished dinner. He sat in the corner of the couch and listened to the din of conversation and the clatter of dishes. Marcus was playing with some toy that made a shrill electronic noise. Brendon's head ached. He sat up, quick ... Where was Spencer? It was so easy, when Spencer was playing the family dog, to forget ...

But there he was, curled up in a corner, watching, patient.

He was probably much more than Brendon deserved.

The room was too hot. They all sat down to dinner. The table was overloaded. His mother permitted the adults to have a glass of wine each. Brendon passed the platter of turkey. He held uncomfortably still while his father said grace. It seemed an eternity before they started eating. His mother kept getting up to retrieve forgotten condiments from the kitchen. The kids were wound up and antsy.

Elsie was telling her mother about that morning's service. "It smelled really bad in there," she said. "Mom, doesn't everyone have to take a shower before you go to church? You make me take a shower. How come some people think they can talk to God when they're stinky?"

Everyone stifled their laughs. "God wants us to be clean before we celebrate Him," Kara said. "Maybe some people were too busy to take a shower, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't."

Elsie wrinkled her nose. "So is that why Uncle Brendon was praying in the bathroom yesterday?" she asked.

Brendon's hand tightened around the stem of his wine glass. "What, Els? I wasn't praying in the bathroom. What are you talking about, kiddo?"

She glared at him. "Yes huh you were," she said. "I heard you in there. You said, 'God, that's good. Oh, God!'." Her voice had gone high and loud. She turned and looked at her mom. "When are you going to teach me to pray in the bathroom, Mom?"

Brendon's cheeks burned. Everyone was staring at him.

"Um," he said.

There was a resounding crash from the kitchen, then another. Brendon jumped up. His mother followed. Upset from where it had sat on the kitchen counter, the half-carved turkey was now spread across the kitchen floor. Meat and grease where everywhere. A pot of gravy had been upended and was dripping down the front of the stove. And in the midst of it all, tail wagging, sat Spencer.

"Put that dog outside now, Brendon," his mother shouted.

Everyone else had gotten up from the table. The baby had started to cry. His father was laughing. Brendon grabbed Spencer by the collar and herded him toward the back door.

He leaned down and whispered, "Thank you," but when he had to shut the door with Spencer out alone in the cold, he felt like his heart was breaking.

Brendon cleaned up while the family finished dinner. His mother tried to get him to come sit back down but he insisted on cleaning up the mess Spencer had made. Elsie's questions about Brendon's bathroom devotions appeared forgotten for the time being. Brendon was beyond relieved that Spencer's quick thinking had saved him from that particular torturous line of inquiry.

Brendon's mom didn't want him to bring Spencer back inside. Brendon was tired, full, and frazzled. He said that if he couldn't bring his dog back inside he'd sleep outside himself. His mother rolled her eyes in a way that he knew meant she thought he was being a child, a brat. She didn't understand, though, and he could never, ever tell her. He led Spencer back in and straight up to his bedroom. He curled up and pressed his face into Spencer's soft fur and tried to breath steadily to stop the tears from coming.

They left the next morning, a whole day early. His mother and his father hugged him tight, but he couldn't help but think they weren't all that sad to see him go. He held the steering wheel tight. He'd thought that this weekend would bring some conclusion: either he and his parents would reconcile, or there would be some cataclysmic schism. Instead, he just felt exhausted and nervous, deep in the pit of his stomach. He turned the radio off and drove for a long while before turning off the highway.

Carrying his backpack in his mouth, Spencer disappeared a few dozen yards into the forest. Ten minutes later, he emerged, human.

"Hey," he said, as he sat back down in the passenger seat. He looked pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Sorry that sucked so badly," Brendon said, staring straight ahead.

"It didn't," Spencer said. "You tried, Bren. You'll keep trying, and things will get better."

Brendon frowned. "I would rather have just stayed home," he said. "We could have had our own Christmas."

"We were together," Spencer said, gently. "And I know it's important to you, being with your family. I wanted you to be able to share Christmas with them."

"I know," Brendon said, frustrated. "I know. I just ... it doesn't seem fair that they make it so hard."

Spencer said nothing.

 

"You probably think I'm a huge ingrate or something," Brendon mumbled.

 

He sighed, and twisted, reaching into the back seat for his bag. From the front zipper pouch he took that manila envelope, folded. He stared at it for a moment. Spencer still hadn't said anything. Brendon handed him the envelope.

"I know we said we weren't going to get each other anything," he said. "I probably shouldn't even have found this. I shouldn't even have been looking, but I just wanted to know what your life was like. I know you say that doesn't matter, but I wanted to know what happened. I wanted to be able to help you if you needed help, Spence."

He folded his hand in his lap and was silent.

Spencer frowned as he opened the envelope. He took out the folded sheets of copier paper and flattened them out. In black and white reproduction, there was a clipping of a newspaper article, several years old now: "Twins Celebrate Acceptance to Ivy League Schools".

The twins were Spencer's sisters. Brendon hadn't meant to find the article, not really, but he'd wanted to know so badly and he hadn't known how to ask Spencer. A LexisNexis search had turned up a half dozen articles that mentioned the disappearance of Spencer Smith, age 16, while camping with his family in the Wyoming wilderness six years before. Brendon had come to the appropriate conclusions.

Spencer hadn't said anything, but his hands were shaking. Brendon felt something twist and ache deep in his belly. He should never have done it. He shouldn't have gone looking for what Spencer didn't want to share.

"Sorry," he said, head hanging. "I mean, it's not ... you probably didn't want to dredge up all kind of bad memories on Christmas. I should have waited ..."

"No," Spencer said, voice rough. "No, it's ..." He cleared his throat.

Brendon looked up.

Spencer was crying. Brendon had never seen him cry, but his cheeks were shiny wet and there were dark wet splatters on the paper.

"Spence ..." Brendon touched his hand, softly. "Dude, I'm sorry."

Spencer didn't move, didn't say anything, but neither did he shrug off Brendon's touch. Outside, on the highway, cars sped past.

"I was always scared to look," Spencer said. "I tried to forget. I tried to pretend like it didn't matter, but I missed them." He sounded miserable and young. "I missed them so much." His voice broke. "That's why I wanted you to go to your parents' house."

"Oh," Brendon said, quiet. He wanted to wrap his arms around Spencer, wanted to let Spencer cry into his shoulder, if that's what he needed, but they were in a cramped car and there was no room.

"I'm so proud of them," Spencer said. "I can't believe ... fuck, I can't believe they're in college. They were little girls when I was ... when I left. They were always smart though. Way smarter than me. I knew they'd grow up to be lawyers or brain surgeons or something."

"It's pretty incredible," Brendon said. He didn't know what to say, didn't know what he could do that would make Spencer feel better.

Spencer swallowed, loudly. "I never meant for it to be a secret," he said. "I just didn't think you wanted to know. I mean, I was just some dumb kid. I was so miserable, and then I ... I got bit, and everything changed, and none of that mattered."

"It matters, Spence," Brendon says. "If you want it to matter, it matters. Just because you changed doesn't mean you have to forget about them. It doesn't mean you can't miss them."

"I do," Spencer said. "I'm so grateful for everything I have. I'm so grateful I found you, but I do miss them. Sometimes I think ... what if I found their address and knocked on their door? What would they say?" He laughed, bittersweet. "I don't think they'd even know who I am."

"They look like you," Brendon said. "I knew it had to be your sisters, because they look so much like you."

Spencer stared at the grainy photograph. "I guess they do," he said, after a while.

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind for Christmas," Brendon said. "I wanted it to be ... I don't know. I wanted it to be perfect for you, and instead you ended up getting swatted on the nose with a newspaper by my mom."

Spencer laughed, roughly. "It was totally worth it. You should have seen your face, dude. It was kind of amazing. I thought you were going to melt or spontaneously combust or something."

Brendon shuddered. "I felt like I was going to spontaneously combust," he said. "Or maybe my mom was going to set me on fire with her laser beam eyes."

"Good thing I was paying attention," Spencer said.

"Yeah," Brendon said. "Fluffy really saved my ass, this time."

Spencer snorted. It was chilly, although the sun was almost at peak. Brendon started the car.

"I'm sorry it wasn't want you were hoping for," Spencer said.

"It's okay," Brendon said. "Thanks for y'know, being awesome."

"I can't really help it," Spencer said. "But you're welcome."

"Merry Christmas," Brendon said.

"Merry Christmas to you," Spencer said, folding the photocopied article and putting it in his pocket. "Let's go home."


End file.
